Part Three: Ghosts
~ Stay, stay.
Memory will hold you,
Stay, stay.
But in the darkness you can sing.
Sing, sing.
In the safety of the tree.
Sing, sing.
Your song belongs to me. ~
Berliner Zeitung [Berlin Newspaper] headline, 20 June 1945:
WAS GESCHAH MIT ALICE MOSER? [WHAT HAPPENED TO ALICE MOSER?]
4 July, 1945
As Peggy emerged from the subway exit into the New York summer air, she closed her eyes. She'd only just returned from London, and she'd always found New York much warmer than her home city. She basked in the feeling for just a moment, then opened her eyes and walked on.
The streets here weren't pockmarked with bomb craters. The war had shaped the city, certainly, but only through construction and increased activity. The war hadn't really touched the city. It had certainly touched its people, though: Peggy had already spotted two wounded veterans on the train, and food and supplies were still strictly rationed.
Peggy looked around to gain her bearings, checked the piece of paper she'd brought with her, then set off south. The streets in Brooklyn were thick with workers either coming or going from a hard shift at the docks.
The war in Europe might have ended in May, but the war worldwide wasn't over yet.
Half the SSR were still cleaning up in Europe: HYDRA had left a lot of messes. The 107th Tactical Team (or the Howling Commandos, as they were starting to be called) were all still hard at work, led by Dugan. Peggy occasionally gave them things to look into on her behalf.
The SSR had considered posting the team to Japan, but HYDRA had not extended their reach quite that far yet, and Howard was already hard at work on some secret project to do with the Pacific.
As her heels clicked on the Brooklyn footpath, Peggy thought back to one of the last times she'd seen them all together: London, VE Day. They'd celebrated and danced along with the rest of the city, but their joy was tempered by grief. They drank to those they'd lost.
It had only been four months then since they'd lost Steve, Barnes, and Alice. It had been - Peggy counted - six months now.
Each loss felt different, and yet when combined they became a terrible empty void that Peggy did not know quite how to reconcile. She was fond of the 107th Tactical Team and had formed a bond with them in the last few months of fighting in Europe (they'd taken out two remaining HYDRA bases on their own), but… Steve and Alice were her friends. She'd understood them, and they had understood her.
Walking alone down the street, Peggy could not help but feel yet again that she had failed them.
She drew a deep breath and lifted her chin. That was the way, now. Already everyone was trying to go back to normal, forget the horrors of the war. Chin up, act normal. There was only so much room for grief.
Peggy had got herself a job as an SSR agent right here in New York, under a newly promoted captain. Life goes on.
But Peggy couldn't leave the war behind. Not with unfinished business.
Her footsteps slowed as she approached a relatively new brick building in Flatbush. She checked her scrap of paper, checked the building number, then strode up the steps. It was a multi story apartment building, so after letting herself through the main door she found the stairwell and started climbing. One of the residents, an elderly African American woman, passed her on the way down and turned to stare at her when she didn't think Peggy was looking.
On the fourth floor, Peggy broke off from the stairwell and found apartment 4C. She drew a deep breath, straightened her coat (it still felt strange to go without a uniform) and then rapped smartly on the door.
After ten seconds of silence she let out a sigh and prepared herself for the journey back to her midtown women's lodgings. But then she heard a floorboard creak, and footsteps. A moment later the door cracked open just far enough for the inhabitant to peer out at her.
The young man's brow furrowed as he took in the sight of Peggy at his doorstep. Peggy did not let her calm expression waver, but she felt a spike of satisfaction and trepidation as she recognized the young man from the photograph she'd secured from governmental records: he looked slightly older, his dark skin a little darker probably from working in the sun, his features much warier.
"Thomas Johnson?" Peggy asked politely.
"That's me, ma'am," he said politely, though his eyes still glittered with suspicion. He did not open the door any wider.
"My name is Peggy Carter. May I come in?"
His eyes narrowed. "I don't know if letting a white lady into my house is going to do wonders for my reputation."
"Your reputation?"
Thomas eyed her sharply. But Peggy waited him out, her features still calm and enquiring, and finally he held the door open fully. "Alright, come on in."
He turned and strode back into his apartment, leaving Peggy at the open door. She followed him in, closing the door behind her, taking the opportunity to sweep her eyes around. Thomas himself wore a tailored white shirt and smart trousers, and his apartment was clean and airy. Not lavish by any means, but it didn't reflect the deprivation that Peggy had seen elsewhere in the city: there was new carpet on the floor, a well-stocked bookshelf in the corner, a radio on the mantelpiece, and signs everywhere of a well loved and lived in home.
Thomas leaned in the far doorway out of the living area, as if blocking her off from the rest of the house. He watched her closely, assessing her.
"This is all your apartment?" Peggy asked. Thomas was only seventeen, after all, and she didn't know many seventeen year olds who lived alone.
"Thought I'd be conscripted if the war went on much longer," he explained. He had a low, strong voice. A singer's voice. "Worked hard to put aside some money for my family if I…" he shook his head. "But the war's mostly over, I'm here, so I rented this place."
"I see," Peggy nodded. "Do you have family in the area, Thomas?"
"Call me Tom. Some here. Some in Harlem." He folded his arms. "How can I help you, Ms Carter?"
Peggy almost smiled at his watchful, determined attitude. But then she thought of how best to answer his question, and any desire to smile crumbled.
She drew a steadying breath. "I'm here about your sister, Tom."
He hadn't exactly been welcoming before, but now an outright scowl dropped over his face. His crossed arms tightened and his eyes flicked over her. "Going to arrest me?"
Peggy blinked. "Of course not."
Tom weighed these words for a moment, then pushed off the wall and went to the far shelf, where he began moving the ornaments on top of it about seemingly randomly. Peggy suspected he'd done it just to put his back to her for a moment. She wondered what was playing across his face.
"Most people round here don't remember I have a sister," he said eventually, his voice carefully even.
"Most?"
"Some remember. Most of those don't realize that she's… y'know." A silence passed, then Tom looked over his shoulder. "You do know, don't you? That she's…"
"The Siren," Peggy finished for him.
Tom's face twisted, and for the first time Peggy saw the deep hurt hidden there.
"Those that do know," he continued, "they get… nasty."
Peggy drew in a deep breath. Alice had never confided in her about her brother, not really. Peggy knew they were close, but Tom had always been Alice's soft underbelly that she protected with silence. Peggy did not know how to handle this.
"Tom," she began again. "Could we sit down?"
He eyed her for another long moment, then seemed to decide to humor her. He strode to his dining table and took a seat, gesturing for her to sit opposite him. She did.
Once she was settled, Peggy met Tom's eyes. "I have some news about your sister."
He stiffened, his eyes going hard. He leaned back. "She's dead, isn't she."
Peggy pressed her lips together. "Officially, she's missing in action. But yes, we believe that Alice is dead."
She watched Tom's face crumble, revealing the boy he still was. He breathed for a few long moments. Then his expression reformed into a frown. "MIA?" he asked softly. "I thought that was only for soldiers."
Peggy sighed. "Well. It's complicated. Before I start, I need you to know that what I'm about to tell you is highly classified, and you can't tell another soul. Not even your family or your best friend in the whole world, or you'll be charged with treason and sent to prison. Do you understand?"
Tom looked hopeful now, and curious. "I do. Tell me what happened to Alice."
So Peggy told him.
Fifteen minutes later Peggy found herself sitting on the other side of the table, one hand on Tom's shoulder as he cried into his hands. His body shook under her palm. He'd seemed almost a full grown man when she first arrived, confident in his skin, but now she saw the boy that Alice had known: a boy who had loved and lost his sister.
Peggy had told him everything she could: what she knew of Alice's life in Vienna at the beginning of the war, her training under the SSR, the work she'd undertaken for the past two years. Peggy told him about how she'd helped Steve and Bucky, and Tom's face rippled with pain again at the reminder of their loss. They were like big brothers to me, he told her.
"I knew things didn't add up," Tom choked out, and Peggy felt tears sting the corners of her eyes. "I thought she might be doing something like that, even though all the evidence seemed to point toward her doing something awful, but now…" he shook again, and straightened to look Peggy in the eyes. His eyes were red, and his face damp with tears. "She was really helping people?"
"Yes," Peggy said softly. "There are dozens - probably hundreds - of people alive today thanks to her."
Tom leaned back in his chair, his cheeks still wet.
Peggy let out a breath. "It might not be my place to say, but I know… I know that lying to you haunted Alice. She wanted to make it right, but she couldn't."
Tom's eyes squeezed shut. "I haven't heard from her in over two years."
Peggy did not know what to say to that.
Tom cracked an eye open. "You said Steve and Bucky… they knew."
"From what I understand, they were completely in the dark until I assigned them - unknowingly - to a mission with Alice in Italy. When they found out they were… angry," Peggy recalled the way Steve had stormed up to her after that mission, "but I believe they made amends."
"So they kept it secret from me too," Tom said with a bite of hurt in his voice. Peggy's lips pressed together, but before she could think of how to respond to that, Tom sighed. "I know why. I just…" he shook his head. "She promised me once that one day, she'd tell me every secret she had. I know it ain't her fault that she can't, and I don't blame her for wanting to help people however she could, but I just…" his eyes fixed on the roof. "I thought one day I'd have a sister again." His expression closed off, but not before Peggy saw the consuming grief in his eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Tom," Peggy said softly.
His eyes turned to her once more. "But you said she's missing. How can you say she's dead if you don't know?" Something like accusation filtered into his voice. "Did you even try to find her?"
"I tried," Peggy said, maybe a tad too curtly. "I am still trying."
His mouth snapped shut.
Peggy sighed. "The last confirmed sighting of Alice was her performance in Tiergarten on January 20th, but we can't be sure if something happened to her that night or later. There are some reports of a disturbance at that building, but nothing concrete." Tom listened to her with sharp attention. "Alice's handler's body was found days later at his apartment, and seemingly it appeared as if he had committed suicide."
Peggy cleared her throat. "I interviewed the owner of the performance venue, which is where the reports of a disturbance come from, but it seems he and his staff were busy with the function that night and can't recall noticing anything particular about the Siren other than that she didn't attend the dinner. Most of the Nazi command are dead, and the rest in prison won't say much except that whatever they did in the war, it wasn't their fault. I have interviewed a few of them who I think had some connection with Alice, but they don't appear to know anything. It's difficult, since I still need to keep most information classified."
Tom's brows came together, but Peggy wasn't finished. "I suspect that if someone in Berlin discovered Alice's work, the Nazi command would not have wanted it widely known - they'd look like fools, you see, letting a double agent traipse all over Europe and through their homes."
"They do look like fools now," Tom said hotly.
"I know," Peggy responded gently. "But this was January, and they were clinging to whatever pride they had left. Propaganda was at its height then. And if some kind of coverup did occur, then we're not likely to find any evidence or testimony now. The building Alice performed in burned down when the Red Army took Berlin."
Peggy leaned back in her chair. "I'm not sure what happened. It's possible there was no coverup, and Alice was never discovered by the Nazis. But either way, I don't know where she went. I'm not going to stop looking, but… no one knows where she is. Half the Nazis I spoke to were just as confused as I was. In the eyes of the public, she's just… missing."
"So how do you know she's dead?" Tom persisted.
"I don't know she's dead," Peggy relented. She met his eyes. "But I knew your sister, Tom. And I know that if she was alive, if she was somewhere out there… she would find a way to let me know."
Tom's jaw stayed clenched and his eyes were hard for a few more moments, but then he seemed to wilt. "Please don't stop looking," he eventually whispered.
"I promise."
He looked up at her again. "Did she… did she know about Steve and Bucky?"
Peggy shook her head, taking another steadying breath. "No. She… disappeared, a week or so before…" her throat closed up.
Tom rubbed his forehead. "I'm glad she didn't have to live with that."
Peggy eyed him. She hadn't told anyone what Steve confessed to her in those last few seconds before his radio went silent. It felt… like the confession of a dying man. She didn't know what to do with it. She'd been in charge of handling Steve's belongings at the SSR headquarters, and had found a much-folded piece of paper written in French: a marriage certificate. She'd kept it, and put most of the rest of his belongings into storage.
As far as she could tell, none of the 107th Tactical Team even knew. She considered telling Tom - surely Alice would have wanted him to know?
But then she saw that Tom's mind was churning with his own thoughts. A frown had developed on his brow as he studied his interlaced fingers. After a moment he sniffed and looked up.
"Hang on," he said. "Everyone still thinks Alice was… y'know. And you told me this was all classified. Do you mean you're not going to explain to people what Alice was really doing? You're going to keep letting them think she's a… she's a Nazi?"
Peggy felt her heart crack. "Tom, this information cannot get out right now. Alice worked with people - spies, resistance members, soldiers, civilians, and even though the war in Europe is over, their work needs to remain secret for their own safety. If anything, the end of the war has put some of them in more danger. And so Alice's work must remain secret. I know it's hard, but some time in the future-"
"When?" Tom's voice cracked.
Peggy took a breath. "It's hard to say. They've been declassifying documents from the Great War since the late 1930s, so-"
"Twenty years? You want Alice to be hated by the people she protected for twenty years?"
"Tom-"
"No!" Tom launched to his feet and his chair toppled backwards. "She fought - she died for this country, Agent Carter, she's a hero just like all those men they're making monuments for!"
"I know," Peggy said firmly, still seated. "I am indescribably proud of Alice and what she did for us, and I will carry my grief for her until the day I die." Tom stilled and his mouth snapped shut again. "But Alice knew the value of secrets, Tom. She would agree with me on this. This needs to stay a secret. Not forever, but just for now."
Tom did not move for a long moment. He just stared at Peggy, inscrutably, his fingers flexing at his sides. Finally he drew in a breath. "Do you want a cup of tea?"
Peggy blinked. "I - yes, alright."
Tom vanished into the kitchen. Alone with her thoughts, Peggy righted the fallen chair and then paced to work out her restless energy. She'd known this would be hard, but… she hadn't really expected this. She'd been expecting to console a boy, but Tom was his own man, and he shared Alice's determined passion. Though he hadn't learned to hide his like Alice had.
Peggy pinched her nose. I hope I've done you justice, Alice. I don't know what you would have wanted to say to him.
Peggy found herself by the window, looking sightlessly into the street outside, thinking of the brother she'd lost to the war. I hope you'd be proud of me, Michael. Proud like Tom is of his sister. Her eyes closed and she felt the warm summer sun on her face.
When Tom emerged from the kitchen with two steaming cups of tea, she had more or less composed herself. He smiled awkwardly at her.
"I made it like our mom used to make for us," he said as he set her cup on the coffee table. She settled on the sofa across from him. "I don't remember much about her, but I remember she used to wrap my fingers around the mug and say Austrinken."
"Drink up," Peggy echoed, smiling as she took a sip. She had not often thought about Alice's mother and stepfather. She knew their names and how they'd died, but she hadn't considered what kind of parents could raise a young woman like Alice.
"Yeah," Tom murmured. "My dad, he… he used to call her Allie." A silence fell, full of thoughts.
Tom broke the silence. "You know, I, uh… there's this girl. Ruth." His cheeks darkened. "We're getting married next week."
"Oh!" Peggy exclaimed, her eyebrows flying up. "I, er… congratulations." This wasn't exactly uncommon - it seemed everyone was looking to get married and settle down now that the fighting was over. But he was so young.
Tom looked at her wryly, as if sensing her thoughts. "Don't worry, we've got permission. We might've waited a bit longer, but… let's just say that nine months from now, things are going to look very different around here."
It took a second or two for the penny to drop. When realization hit Peggy, her eyes snapped wide (making Tom laugh under his breath) and she cast her gaze once more around at this apartment, this young man. He wasn't far off from his 18th birthday, but he was still a child. A child who'd had to become a man.
"You don't need to look so horrified," Tom laughed. "It's both of our faults. And we're crazy about each other, so that doesn't hurt. It'll be hard, but I've got the apartment ready, I've got a good job at the docks and at the tailor shop, the war's almost over, and our families said they'll help us out." He smiled a few moments longer, then sighed. "Ruth has this feeling that the baby's going to be a girl. I want to call her Alice."
Peggy's eyes darted back to him. "That… might not be the best idea, Tom."
He set his jaw. "I don't care. I'll tell people it's for my grandmother, not for my sister. But I will make sure my child knows her aunt was a hero."
"You can't-"
"I know I can't share these secrets, Peggy. Trust me, I won't tell anyone." She looked into his eyes and saw the truth there. "But at least… at least let me honor my sister in the small ways I still can."
Peggy held his gaze for a few moments longer. "You know, Alice used to tell the people she saved 'thank me by getting home safe, and living well'. She'd want that for you too."
Tom's eyes welled with tears again.
"And if you ever need someone to talk to about all this Tom… I'm planning on staying in New York for a while. I might not be able to answer all your questions, but I will do my best. I know who your sister was at heart."
Tom nodded mutely. The shadows outside were growing long, and Peggy knew she was already running late for her evening appointment with the SSR communications chief. She stood, and paced over to lay a hand on Tom's shoulder.
"One day, when it's safe to do so," she murmured, "we'll make sure the world knows the real Alice Moser."
January 1946
Staring up at a nondescript, pale brick apartment building, Peggy tugged her coat tighter around her in the bitter air. The thick clouds overhead threatened snow.
The door of the building opened, and a thin man in a patched overcoat strode out.
"Przepraszam," [Excuse me] Peggy said softly, trying not to trip over the Polish word. The man looked up with shadowed eyes. "Czy ta liczba to dwanaście?" [Is this number twelve?] She hadn't seen any number on the building.
The man eyed her up and down, nodded, and then walked down the street. He skirted around a gaping hole in the pavement without looking at it.
Peggy drew in a breath of frozen air. Kraków was still deeply wounded by the war, the Polish city having been bombed by armies of all kinds and its people killed and imprisoned. What had once been an intellectual and academic capital had become a ruined warzone, and even though efforts for reconstruction were underway, it was going slowly.
The war had ended on Alice's birthday last year, when she should have turned twenty seven. It was well and truly over now, and what now? was the phrase on everyone's tongues.
Peggy was reasonably sure that she knew what what now looked like for her. Her work at the SSR in New York was going fine, despite constant underestimation from her colleagues. But her investigation into Alice's disappearance continued (as did Howard and the SSR's search for the Valkyrie and Steve), and had led her to this: a mystery.
Alice had been missing a whole year now, and Peggy had been searching for any trace of her. But it seemed that she wasn't the only one asking questions.
Last month Peggy had gotten wind of an individual in Poland asking after the Siren. Plenty of people were curious about what had happened to the vastly popular singer, but something about this line of enquiry from Poland made Peggy pay attention: this person knew too much.
At first Peggy had wondered if it was Alice: hidden, deep in secrecy, testing the waters to see if it was safe to emerge. But Peggy knew that Alice could not have gone so long without searching for Steve. Even if she'd heard that he was missing (the army had publicized his MIA status last year), Alice would have wanted to know more.
So Peggy had applied for leave, flown to Poland, and traced the rumors and strange questions to number 12, ul Polna: an apartment block designated for victims of what Yiddish-speaking Jews called the Ḥurban [Destruction]. Peggy had seen the footage the Red Army had taken of the camps they'd liberated across Poland and Germany. She'd read reports of what had been done to the people the Nazis despised most: death camps, gas chambers, smokestacks. The knowledge had filtered into public consciousness like seeping horror - what everyone had suspected and heard of during the war had turned out to be shockingly so much worse than anything they'd expected.
Peggy knew there were preparations underway for trials later in the year. She doubted any trial could deliver enough justice for all the victims of this war.
Swallowing the unnamable spike of hurt that had lanced through her, Peggy strode up the steps to number twelve and opened the door. She found herself in a narrow lobby area. It was clean, and normal enough, but Peggy felt a chill fall over her. Voices echoed from the stairwell, and she looked up to see two women walk into the lobby, wrapped up in winter layers. Despite the clothes Peggy could see that they were bone-thin. Darkness hung under their eyes as they stared at her.
"Przepraszam," [Excuse me] Peggy murmured, "Szukam kogoś, możesz mi pomóc?" [I'm looking for someone, can you help me?]
With a few more well-placed questions, Peggy finally found the room she was looking for. She felt colder here than she had outside, and her heart felt bruised by the time she found herself standing in front of a white-painted door on the third floor.
The people here had gained some weight, had roofs over their heads and steady meals. Some had smiled at Peggy. There was a silence in this building, though, a common look in the eyes of the people she passed, an unspoken sensation of some weighty thing hanging over them all. On some, their skin seemed to stretch strangely over their bones. Most had signs of illness and injury; strange angles to their limbs, mottled skin, fresh scars. None had hair longer than a few inches.
Peggy had never been anywhere like it.
She took a few deep breaths before she knocked on the white door. For some time there was silence, but Peggy could feel someone looking at her through the peephole. She gave no indication that she knew someone was in there, simply kept her expression patient. She could not imagine what the people who lived here had been through.
Finally, the handle creaked and the door opened to reveal another angular woman. Her eyes were sharp, distrustful, and she held the door open only a foot wide. Her dark hair was an inch long and uneven, as if it had been roughly shaved up until very recently. Her skin was pale and almost yellowed in places, but she appeared to have gained some flesh on her bones. It took Peggy a few moments to figure out her age: she couldn't have been older than thirty, she guessed, though her appearance was deceiving - the signs of recent illness in her features and the weight in her eyes made her seem decades older.
Peggy made sure her voice was utterly steady before she spoke. "Are you Jilí Kreisky? Formerly Červeňák?"
The woman stared silently at Peggy.
"Czy jesteś Jilí Kreisky?" Peggy tried.
"I speak English," said the woman, her eyes hard. She had a German accent. "What do you want?"
Peggy eyed her for a long moment. "I'm here about Alice Moser."
For an instant the hard wall of distrust shuttered, and fear and warmth entered Ms Kreisky's eyes. Then as quickly as it had fallen, the wall came back up. "Who?"
Peggy's head cocked. "Alice Moser. Die Sirene. You've been asking about her."
"Says who?" The door creaked as it closed incrementally.
Peggy took a step back to ease the woman's fear, and met her eyes. "I'm not here to hurt you or arrest you, Ms Kreisky. I'm here because I knew Alice, and I'm hoping to give you some answers."
The lines around the woman's eyes creased suddenly and she took a shuddering breath. "Knew," she echoed.
Peggy kicked herself mentally as she watched the other woman's dark eyes gleam. "Will you let me in, Ms Kreisky?"
After another moment of hesitation Jilí nodded, and the door swung wide. Jilí wore a plain house dress, and as she angled away Peggy's eyes snagged on the black outline of numbers on the inside of her forearm.
Jilí did not take her eyes off Peggy. She ushered her into the small living area, from which Peggy could see the even smaller kitchen and the door to the bedroom.
Jili pointed at the hardwood table. "Sit," she commanded.
Peggy sat on one of the two chairs. It creaked under her weight, but held.
Jilí eyed her for a few moments, then said: "Tea?"
"Yes, please."
Jilí disappeared into her kitchen, and Peggy eyed the apartment. It was barebones, with blankets and supplies that were clearly standard issue from some relief organisation or other. There was a window overlooking a concrete courtyard. The apartment did have some signs of personalisation, though: a couple of German novels, a knitted pair of gloves by the door - perhaps a gift - and a folded letter on a stool on the other side of the room. No photos. No memories. Jilí had come here with nothing.
Peggy had just craned her neck to get a look at the corner of a record cover poking out from behind the stool on the other side of the room (she thought it looked suspiciously like a Die Sirene record) when Jilí emerged from the kitchen.
Jilí's fingers shook as she set down Peggy's teacup - not out of fear, Peggy suspected, but from weakness. Her fingers were bony and knobbled - Peggy suspected that at least two of them had been broken at one point.
"Thank you," Peggy murmured. "You're very kind."
Jilí sat opposite her. "People are kind around here. We look out for each other."
"I noticed," Peggy nodded. She'd seen the invisible threads of community stretching through this place. "How is it, living here?"
"It's fine. A lot has changed since the end of the war." Jilí did not drink her tea and did not take her eyes off Peggy. Peggy sipped her tea to fill the silence.
When it seemed Jilí would not say anything more, Peggy set down her teacup. "How did you know Ms Moser?"
"You first."
Peggy sighed. "I… there are some things I'm not at liberty to say unless I know how you were connected with her."
Jilí's eyes shadowed. "I knew her in Vienna. She was my best friend. We…" she hesitated, then cast her eyes heavenward and sighed, the first sign of weakness she had displayed. "Well, I suppose it doesn't matter now, if she's gone." Her eyes gleamed, and she blinked frustratedly. "We were partners. We helped people, smuggled them out, got them food. Alice protected people."
Peggy nodded in understanding. "You helped create her network."
"Her network?" Jilí echoed with a raised eyebrow. She leaned forward. "Listen. I was pulled out of bed by soldiers one night five years ago and taken away from everything and everyone I'd ever known. I figured either they'd taken Alice too or they hadn't, but either way it was in my best interests to keep my mouth shut. Then, after years of hell, I get out and I find that she…" Jilí finally broke eye contact as her voice shook. "That Alice was one of them."
Jilí reached up and swiped away tears, still avoiding Peggy's eyes.
Peggy set down her tea. She sensed that this was a woman not used to betraying emotion. She could see how Jilí and Alice would have fit together - Alice seemed almost warm compared with this sharp-edged warrior.
Jilí looked back. "That wasn't Alice. It wasn't. So I don't know what the hell is going on, but my friend was not that person. And she's missing." Jilí leaned across the table, her eyes sharp again. "I think you know something."
Peggy took in this hard, lean, angry woman. She wondered what sort of a life she had ahead of her. After a few moments Peggy swallowed and folded her hands on the table. "You seem like a woman who understands the value of secrets, Ms Kreisky."
"It's Mrs," Jilí cut in. "My husband died."
"I'm sorry," Peggy said. She'd tried to look into Jilí before she'd arrived, but so many records had been lost. And Alice had not even told Peggy Jilí's name when she came to Brooklyn. Alice protected her friends, even when she thought they were dead.
Jilí sniffed once, then leaned back. She eyed Peggy. "But you're right. Alice understood secrets, too. She kept a whole lot of them, she did. Mostly from her uncle, may his soul rest in hell." Peggy fought off a smile. Jilí cocked her head. "She kept secrets from her brother and her sweetheart back in the states, too."
Peggy straightened. "Her sweetheart?"
Jilí's eyes went shrewd again and she pressed her lips together.
Peggy very determinedly did not roll her eyes. She just guessed, gently: "Steve Rogers?"
Jilí nodded cautiously.
"Do you know who he is?" Peggy asked.
Jilí frowned. "He lives in Brooklyn, no? Got the impression he wasn't all that well."
"He's Captain America."
Jilí's eyes went wide. "What?"
"Yes," Peggy said. She leaned back in her chair and took another sip of her tea, thinking. She had not quite expected this from her trip to Poland. Jilí was frowning now, trying to process the knowledge of little Steve Rogers who she'd once written a letter to being Captain America.
Finally, Peggy leaned forward. "Jilí. If I may call you that." The other woman nodded mutely. "I'm going to tell you who your friend became, and all the brave things she did. But you must promise me in return that you will tell no one. That you'll stop asking after her in public. I'm not telling you to stop looking for her, because we won't stop either, but you cannot reveal her secrets in the process. Can you promise me that?"
Jilí's eyes flicked over Peggy's face. Her hand ran unconsciously over her arm, crossing the pink lines of scars and the dark numbers tattooed into her skin. Then she ran a hand through her short, spiky hair and let out a breath. "I promise."
Peggy spent five hours in Jilí Kreisky's apartment.
Jilí had known a young girl just waking up to all she could do to help people, but Peggy told her about the woman who'd orchestrated intelligence networks across a continent, who'd used the death of her uncle to travel to America to join the SSR, who'd organised countless resistance groups, fed information to the famous Howling Commandos and charged into battle beside them.
Everything she told Jilí seemed to overwhelm her. As Peggy began to describe the circumstances of Alice's disappearance, Jili's head bowed.
Peggy paused in her retelling. "I'm sorry," she murmured.
Jilí shook her head. "No. I am. I'm the one who pushed her into all this. It was years ago now… her uncle had locked her up to make her perform a propaganda piece for the Nazis, and I found her and made her choose: stay and sing the song, or go back to Brooklyn. I told her she could do more good if she stayed. And she stayed. I think she felt… responsible for me, for my friends. Maybe if I hadn't-"
"Jilí," Peggy said gently. "If you knew Alice as well as you say you did, then you know that isn't true. Alice would never have stood by and watched innocent people get hurt."
Jilí let out a choked sigh. "You're right. She struggled for a long time in Vienna, under her uncle. But I remember…" a small smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. "I remember when it changed for her. She flew into my room one day with a thousand ideas about how to help people and push back against the Nazis, and when I got her to stop long enough to explain, she told me I've been waiting for something to happen, but I just realized that what I've been waiting for is me."
Peggy smiled too. "That sounds like Alice."
They continued discussing Alice's disappearance. It turned out Jilí had been looking into it as well, asking questions from anyone who'd been to Berlin.
After some time, over a second cup of tea, Jilí hesitated. "You… you mentioned Alice's network. In Vienna. Are you… have you met them?"
"Yes," Peggy confirmed. "They're laying low, and they've agreed to keep the secrets I asked them to keep. It turned out not many actually knew about Alice's real identity, save for a select few. The leaders, Vano and Hugo-"
Jilí's eyes snapped wide open. "They're alive?"
Peggy's lips parted. "I… yes, they are."
Jilí's eyes once again gleamed with tears and her hands rose to her hair as her mouth opened and closed. "Vano… Vano is my cousin!" her lips split in a grin. "I thought he was dead! I've been trying to get the funds to get back to Vienna, but it's rough everywhere and I know I'm safe here, and I thought…" she shook her head wonderingly. "I can't believe it."
Peggy allowed herself to smile. "If you like, the SSR can assist you with travel back to Vienna."
"I… yes," Jilí breathed. "I don't think I could ever live there again, but I need to… I need to see my old friends." Her eyes darted. "And then," she said in a stronger voice, and her eyes met Peggy's, "I am going to find out what happened to Alice."
Peggy drew in a breath. "We have been putting every effort into finding the truth, Jilí, perhaps you should focus on your health-"
But Jilí was smiling now: a sharp, determined glint of teeth. "I appreciate that, Agent Carter," she said evenly. "But I don't think you understand: I am going to find out what happened to Alice. I am happy to work with you and your organisation, but it sounds like you're also busy looking for little Steve, and cleaning up HYDRA's messes. I am going to look for my friend. And I'm going to find out every rotten detail about those Nazi Schwein while I do."
Peggy blinked. She hadn't heard anyone call Steve little in a while, and Jilí's sudden determination was almost jarring. But as she looked into Jilí's eyes, she recognized something that Peggy felt she shared.
Peggy leaned forward. "Well then, Mrs Kreisky. Let's talk."
I kinda forgot to wish my boy Steve a happy birthday last week, so happy birthday! And a happy Fourth of July to all my American readers :)
I'm so excited to finally be up to Part Three of this story, and I cannot wait to show you guys what I have up my sleeve ;) Hopefully this chapter was a nice surprise!
Reviews:
AceCookie: I know! I'm hoping you'll forgive me one day ;)
CaptainLoki: Don't worry, we're not at the end yet! Thank you for your lovely reviews every week, they never fail to make me smile :)
Teaanddoctorwho: Sorry my dear! Hopefully you'll forgive me ;)
Guest: Sorry for being so rude! As for what will happen in the future, hang tight - I've got plans. And hopefully this chapter answered some of your questions!
spanieluver: I realise I forgot to wish Steve a happy birthday! Oops!
Guest: Hi guest! Thanks for your feedback. If the last chapter felt rushed, it's because when you look at that timeline, it is rushed. Bucky fell from the train one day, and Steve went down in a plane the next. As much as I would have loved to delve into deep, complex emotions after a long spanse of time, war doesn't really allow for that - Steve had to keep moving. Hopefully you enjoyed this chapter!
Guest: I can't wait to show you what I've got planned for the future chapters! You're right about the unknown and how it offers no closure ;)
MsMoe9: Thank you so so much lovely, I'm really glad you're enjoying this (and that you enjoyed the Wyvern!). I can't wait to show you what happens next. À la prochaine x
GuestPrime: The pace is definitely going to be pretty different from here on out, but I am so excited to show you what that entails! And yeah I was trying to make Steve and Peggy's potential dance date as platonic as possible, hope it worked! And hopefully this chapter answered some of your questions :)
Guest: Omg I'm so glad you're rereading and noticing my foreshadowing! What a compliment. Hopefully you'll notice more as further chapters come out with more information ;)